Winterfell
by Mard21
Summary: Being a Stark, a Tyrell, a lost soul or the low-born bastard of a forgotten King, finding somewhere you belong is never an easy task.
1. Prelude

The evenning light was grey as dusty glass, and the bare trees were like gnarled hands against the cloudy sky. Quote I was inspired by. None of this belongs to me. Hopefully. Otherwise a lot of character would be living in Wonderland by now. Leave anything you want, and I hope you'll like reading this.

The wind, transformed into a sore breath, settled in their lungs, like a thousand knives into some dirty wood. The climb was harsh, and there had been no way to stop, exept if they wanted to die the white death - prisonners of the snow, between a stone and a grey wall. As if on cue, the sun hide itself from the lives beneath it. The solar phenomenon kept the light from the soil, for three hours. So for three hours they waited, knotted to one another by a thin trail of red wool. They could not go back, they could not stop, so they looked forward and walked for three hours, hoping their feet would not freeze in the process.

The wind stopped, but snow fell on their heads like ashes in a firehouse. The temperature did not raise, even when the sun came back to indicate them that they were, indeed, in the right direction.

Somehow, none of them seemed to be completely alive. The tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed young man, had his mouth tightenned forming a frozen sculpture of what seemingly were two lips. On his right, after the poor horse, wich lifetime seemed reduced by three generations, another two figures appeared. One was quite grande, elegant even covered in snow, her red hair contrasting very vividly with her fair and pale skin. Altough she wore trousers, and a pair of dagger at her side, she would have never looked better in her life, and few would held the comparison once _there._ At her left, a slighlty darker silhouette stood, the feet smooth and light in the crumbling weather. She bore a hood like the other two, but left it on her face. It was only possible to recognize her by her looks, her deep brown eyes, and her hair, so much like her father's had been. She was, in comparison, far from a beauty, but something about her made you wish not to cross her path in any way. She was fearless, but not a fool, with that she was a loner, in the woods, capable of anything and everything. She was bearing your worst nightmares in her luggage, and your death at her side. No one would dare try anything with that young women around.

Yet, behind the two, there came a giant with a boy on his back. Well, not a boy anymore, as it is. With his 15 years, he was quite an adult now. He was fully trained in the art of the Ancient Gods, transferring from one body to another, without any difficulty. He was a powerful sir, even though he looked pale and skinny, and the fact that he was called a cripple. Every time someone would injure him, his companions would altogether make a simple move, all indicating to the personn concerned to go somewhere else before they had the chance to mouth another word. They were a recomposed hord of sort, and no one would touch him, even if they tried really hard.

The daggers Sansa was wearing, were called "The Sorceress' Prisoners". They had been made specially for her, by the blacksmiths of High Sparrow, when she finally arrived there. First, she entered as a domestic in the Palace, but soon, the nieces of the Prince recognized her breeding and confronted her. She was made prisonner, but in front of her stubborness and her silence, they let her go and waited, waited for her to speak.

So, she spoke. Of her travel. Of her escape off of Littlefinger's hands. They decided to take her in as one of the many bastard born child in the city, for trainning in the hands of the Princesses. She did well. She left after the war happenned, being covered as a women, and as a bastard. No one trusted her, in any way, by any low or high-born breeding she could have had. The only thing the sisters ever gave her were those two poisonned daggers. She had learned that beauty can be put at your advantage more often than your fists in this world, this explainning the daggers names. That is all she told Arya.

After all, they were never close. That fact changed when she came back from Braavos, tided up by a strong tall man, named G. S. did not knew him, and when they crossed path, she could have killed him on the spot, for even being at this crosspath. He explained, and showed her her sister, nose burried deep in red wool, seemingly sleeping. He told her, how she had been trained by the Faceless Men to kill. She did not even remember who she was. Exept for some parts. Some that were reluctant to leave her memory. He believed that, somehow, she could be saved. "She is all I have left behind. She is all I have from now on." is what he thought, "We all have our issues. I'll take her as one of mine" is what he said. S. agreed, and they all walked back to Winterfell, or the ruins left of it. On their way, Sansa questionned both, her sister ceasessly, and the young man about rumors, about traces left behind of a crippled boy and a giant travelling south in direction of the new queen to swore allegiance. Bran and Hodor, were seen first by Arya, screaming and forming unpronouncable words in some other language, none could understand. Apparently Hodor did, and despite Bran best efforts, he came to them not knowing if they were ennemies or foes. When they met, Summer recognized Arya and Sansa, for Nymeria, she had been following in the woods, hidden from sight. She would not be seen before the full recovery of her mistress, and even then, the Stark's youngest princess was the only one to approach her withouth being chased after or bitten. None of the other wolves of the pack ever returned home.

As an added part, Gendry did not have a word to say about anything it seemed. At least to Sansa. And later to Arya. He was an added part to an already heavy armour with parts which were broken, parted to pieces, roted and wore the scars of infinite battles. But he was a part of something, which felt really good. After Arya left, he had his fair share of adventures, alone and battling not to get killed, he was enroled, he fought, and then was graced by the Queen Daenerys. The years had pass by and he did not even felt them flew. He was a loner again, and the only personn he knew, had disappeared, so he searched, but in vain. Until one night, he opened his lids to a heavy knife on his throat, and brown hair on his nose. She was straddling him, and could already have killed him very easily. He shut down his mouth, and she spoke. She asked why he was searching for an Arya, or Arry nearby. She asked about where he came from and who he was. He answered to all. Then she lifted the knife, sat down near him, between his outer thigh and the edge of the bed, and begun to cry. She repeated a list of names, he could not make out in her trembling voice. Her hands were clunched to the only piece of tissue she had on her. Her entire being fell down at that moment. He watched her sleep, perhaps the first full night of sleep she had after killing all those people. The reputation of the Faceless Men became global when she finally finished her training, and started working. Murders happenned all around the city for reason of jealousy, and for inheritance. She lost count. That is what she told him. But the list that night was far too long to be the prayer it was when he left her. He watched her sleep, in the bed he rented for the night, in that filthy brothel, hoping some rich inhabitant would show up, and her along with them. He sat down in front of the dirty window, the bed on his right, and his feet cold.

When they gathered all, the tension and emotion was in the air, but it was soon collapsing under the renewal of melancholy they all felt in their bones. They were tired. They needed a way home. So here they were, climbing back north, to a home they never knew or a home they longed to find again. The road was still frozen, but winter was beginning to wear off leaving the trees, and forming some mud under their shoes.

From afar, some banners were planted into the castle. Roses. Sansa was the first to react. "Let's go. Roses have thorns, but they never have hurt me."


	2. Chapter 1 - Thou art a mad noisemaker

"I dream about it, every night, my dear

About our missed sunsets, and I hear

In every missed moments my heart, broken,

Which above it all, wants to tenderly, run

Run after you..."

Willas Tyrell seemed bored. The playwright held no candle to his grandmother's writing skills, and he missed those wits she had once. When he arrived in the estranged castle - Well, more like ruins when they arrived but...still - he missed High Garden, his private library, the fresh air, and the sun at all times.

After a moment, out of pure integrity for the language, he proclaimed calmly " _Stop_ ".

The actors looked at him, and at the crowd around. Everyone was amazed as well as frightenned. The band touched their instruments nervously, the mohagany wood against pale chins, fingers surrounding surprised figures striked some sense into him. " _Please, I am honoured by your interpretation of this play, but without a doubt the guests are starving if you will it would be a pleasure for me to assist to the remanants of your play, after the dinner is served._ "

A girl rose her head, and looked right at him." _Of course, My Lord. As you wish_ _ **always**_."

Most of the comedians were leaving the stage, when two guards openned the high and heavy doors, an embrace of the winter's wind entering the place. Shivers were felt, even in the coldest of hearts, when they saw the three remaining children of Eddard and Catlyn Stark.

A voice, never to be found afterwards, announced coldly.

" _Sansa and Arya Stark, Princesses of the North. Bran Stark, King in the North, and their companions, Gendry Waters, last male heir to the Baratheons, as well as Hodor, domestic serving Sir Brandon Stark._ "

Some may have suspected some hidden man in the shadows, but no one was able to recall watsoever.

Willas, on the other hand, straightenned in his chair, to say the less, astonished to see those faces, supposedly dead or away.

One side of his mind was at the task of imagining a combat with the liars, and counted one after the other the guards who could take them out.

The other side, wandered to imagine that he could have witnessed here, one of the most spectacular return known to mankind.

Nonetheless, his intelligence stayed somehow, still, assessing his chance of survival if he fought them, if his positions in High-Garden would be compromised, if...

" _Sir Willas Tyrell, of High-Garden, we came here to kindly reclaim our rights to the throne of our father. Daenerys Targaryen agreed to the liberation of the North, and to our rights, she offered us the commandment for us and over all those who are living in peace here, wherever they came from._ "

A young women, with an auburn braid on the side, and eyes piercing, daggers at her waist, had pronouced those words. She clearly was Sansa Stark. If it was only for the legends and rumours, she had been to Dorne and fought at the side of Oberyn's children. For others, she was dead in the hands of the Boltons themselves, skinned alive.

He did not knew how but Willas remembered the letter from his grandmother telling him about the kind and candid Sansa, he would more like than love.

This women was a rock. She would do the North a great deal of pride and greatness. Still, as the heir of High-Garden, he had duties, and those included the unlimited expansion of his economical empire over the country. He managed to plant and grow roses, crimson coloured, named "The Red Wedding's Rose" or by some others "The Stark's Blood". They were very rare, and only bloomed for a week of the year, before fading. Their smell, very intense and powerful, was a new luxury the upper classes of the North payed with great fondness, if not tenderness. The nostalgia and melancholy was driving this country into a wall when he arrived, messenger of the newly allied Tyrell's to the Targaryens. He managed, while sending men and ressources to the Army, to built up a whole new economy here. He was a man of his words, as unable as he was to hold a sword now, he was capable of great goods, but greater damages if his efforts were to be in vain.

" _Please, Sirs and Ladies, do calm down. I am sure this story will be solved soon. In the mean time, I will speak with the newcomers in my private chambers if they do not mind it. I take no liking in spies, whoever they may be_ " His eyes never left the gathered remaining of a solitary family.

As their eyes never flattered from his figure.

* * *

The fire was awful. The place was a room their father used to receive his subjects in, on common subjects.

This time, they were the beggars. How odd. How ironic. But most of all, how pitifull.

Sansa was sitting, a hand up at her chin, deep in thoughts. Arya was tapping her fingers on the central rond table, her right hand on her sword. Hodor was up behind Bran, showing no sign of impatience but the fact that he started balancing himself from one foot to another after three minutes in the room. Bran, himself, was sitting, still, caressing the growing hairs on his cheek absent-mindedly. Gendry, next to Arya, at the near end of the oval table, remained calmed, though his sighs and constent fidgeting were getting on the nerves of all the other persons in the room. When finally, the two doors were opened again, they all put serious faces in place, and waited until everyone was sitted.

Willas was in the middle, right in front of Bran, who had on one side his two sisters and on the other the last Baratheon.

The Tyrell heir had his council filling up each four chairs on each side of him. Each were chosen only for the family's sake, and reputation. None were there to be trusted. All were in place to be accepted and assessed on.

" _Good. Since everyone is here we can start. First of all, your little spectacle had a good timing, but not so much narration. So, if you could_ _ **willingly**_ _give me the Royal Assessment concerning your claims._ "

Sansa looked over in Bran's direction. He did not move for two seconds. His arms still, he advanced his hands on the table, and appeared a little bit taller.

" _Sure thing. Arya, if you please._ "

As she did not answer, her looks in a murderous state, Willas immediately thought of danger. Thing that did not last longer, because she was giving the enrolled paper to him with a nod, returning to her condescending position in her chair.

" _Thank you._ "

He never needed anyone to tell him how to read or write. What he read there was astonishing to the least. He cleared his throat, before speaking aloud again. .

" _If this document is correct, you are here, not only to take over the place, but to ensure the fact that the country of the North will be freed._ " He inhaled before continuing. " _In doing so, the influence of the Queen would be lower than her actual rank permits her to be, so she offered a deal. Is that right ?_ "

Bran, letting a sigh escape his lips, answered.

" _Yes, it was how Daenerys wanted it to be. We either agreed or went to jail._

 _\- Not much of a real deal then..._ "

The intervention of a bitter Gendry earned him a hard look from everyone in the room.

" _So, again, if I do not misunderstand, the deal was that she kept your youngest brother as her guard, and to ensure her backs, she sent you here with the mission to form an alliance... with us. With, the House Tyrell._ " He let every consequences that could bring this news settle in the air, before speaking again. " _You do realize, that at this point, there is nothing you have that I do not already have right ? You are aware that this would mean_ _ **a wedding**_ _?_ " The last word was over-exaggereteky pronounced, as if it was poisonned. He looked at the sisters. Arya was not fit for a wedding, plus she could kill him in seconds if she wanted to. Sansa, the girl he had been promised to, the women he was so unsure how to talk to, let alone _handle_... " _Sir, that is exactly what we agreed to. Whatsoever we have no regrets concerning this fair deal, and if I may, it is none of your concern as long as you agree to give us the lands withouth any further discussion_ ". Silence was heavy on the heads in the room. His blood, not normally so hot-tempered, took a bad turn, and he answered " _Why would I leave something I worked harder than you ever did, building back up, pieces after pieces, when your Majesties were not here, in the first place. I was assigned here, and I am staying here for as long as I can. The choice of my bride be damned._ "

Bran opened his mouth but was cut short by Arya's voice. " _We were not in position to defend the castle, as the troops, your House was once a part of, was attacking the castle trough devious and treatorous strategy. Don't you recall, Sir ? Don't you recall, the voices dying in your head of people you would never see again, the way that soldier made you look like a boy to save you, the way you were knocked down by the crowd because your fiance was an asshole, the way men were looking at you ready to rape you senseless, the way you were named a crippled and carried away for protection, the way each nights you dream of a bull charging right at you, without being able to breathe or to stop this shit from hapening again and again. Do not presume we were not here on our own will, fate drove us away. And now that it has driven us back, you have no right to say no. No right nor no choice. So just announce the wedding, announce it and do it. Then it will be all over. Who will be there to ask after grand-children ? Everyone's dead anyway._ " She slapped her hand down on the brown furniture " _Willas Tyrell, you have no right here. You have no right to insult us in our own house, in our home, just because your ego is bruised. Our family was massacred, our mother's cadavre cheated life and haunted the woods for as long as the war went on, we had to flee, above the Wall, to Dorne, to Braavos, to anywhere. We had to survive, you little piece of crap, so show some respect !"_ She snapped. _"Show some respect and shut your filthy mouth before I do it myself..._ "

This time the air was vibrating, and Willas feared for his life. A second later, a sword at his chin, he prayed to every Gods and Godesses he knew that someone in the room would intervene to spare his life. None did. On the Stark's side, everyone was tense but silent. On the other, everyone was still, mouth agape, speaking words made out of thin air.

He had to push himself out. On his own, for once.

" _Lady Stark "_ She pushed a little bit further. " _I meant no disrespect by my statement. I answered withouth thinking and agree to any punishment you see fit, although... I stand my ground, and believe that an alliance between our two clans would be more appropriate than a civil war. My men worked harder than they ever did in High-Garden to built back this castle. When I arrived, ruins were all that was left. Some cadavres were discovered in a state you would not even believe... I am proud of what my commandment has done with this land. Your people respect me, even though their loyalty will always lie in your hands, I insist on - even if that sounds bizarre to some - the alliance deal our Queen is proposing. None of us wants to end up in jail, do we ? "_ He earned a small smile from the assembly. His eyes never left Arya's. After a few seconds, she slowly drew back her sword, turning to her siblings. " _If you ever disrespect us in any way, in laws or not, you do know that I_ will _kill you, right ?"_ By Gendry's side, she turned a puzzled look at him. He nodded. She sat down. Then, whitout a thought he turned to look at Sansa. Her face was unreadable, and he wished for a closer look just erase the wrinkles she made invisible to any human eyes.

" _Lady Sansa Stark, do you agree to this wedding ? Is it your wish ?"_ Willas aked her sincerely. He frowned, curious about her answer. She said " _Yes "_ and left the room, a hand on a dagger, only leaving a trail of cold in the air.

* * *

So, first chapter. All very tense, I don't really know what to think about it. The title is about the "battle" between Willas and Arya. If it happenned in condition, it would probably have been an appropriate anwser. I found it on a Shakespear's Insult Generator (Yeah, it actually _exists_ ) . So for the next chapter, I do not wish to say too much. First, because I don't have a grand picture of what it will be, and second, because I have no idea of how I will manage to write it with my holidays ending in 5 days. Students life and all. Anyway, thank you for reading, and I'll try to give the narration more "battles" next time ;).


	3. Chapter 2 - Hiraeth

They were ruthless people. Ruthless and devoted to things that could not save their souls for anything in this world. Gold, power, love, none of that made sense to Arya. Only honor and duty. Only her family made sense. After being welcomed at Winterfell, they took a few weeks to regain their belongings, or what was left of those.

Yet, even between those familiar warm walls, tugged under a hot sheet and between layers of wool covers, she could not sleep. She stared at her bed ceiling, wondering about the 'if's', those which drove her insane. Then, she heard steps stopping at her door, she pushed herself up, her right hand under a soft pillow, grasping for a knife, like some were grasping for some air.

A knock broke the silence. " _Who's there ?"_ She managed to say. " _It is... Milandrei, your servant My Lady. The Sir Gendry asked me to bring you some herbs to sleep."_

She was not even surprised at this point. The all shared her secret night walks at least once, even Bran with Hodor walked along with her, not saying a word, but admiring the dark clouded sky; Gendry was the one she walked with more often than the others. He never said a thing, just listening to her, rambling about constellations and education, or not saying anything at all. He would just smile, so she would not have to fake it. He knew, and that is what made him part of her pack all those years ago.

He knew the yearning of a place you can never come back to.

" _You can enter. Leave the trail on the table and go back to sleep, you need it much more than I do."_

The girl - around 14 or 16 at most - did as she asked. She was frail, a skin color of the sand, and dark reddish hair tied in a braid. Her hands were shaking. Arya was already up waiting by the table, her bed open for everyone to see. She was not fond of cleaning up after all. " _No need to fear me Milandrei. I will not hurt you. Unless you hurt me first, but I have a good impression it is not going to happen."_ Arya tried a little comforting smile, which quickly faded into a sad smile, her eyes on the steaming tea in her hands. Surprisingly, the maid pushed it to put a hand on her shoulder, and say " _Never, M'Lady",_ and walk away, swiftly passing the door and going back to her rooms. This girl had guts. She just did not knew it yet. Just like Sansa did.

Just like all of us did. On that thought, Arya downed her glass in one move, and went back to bed, sleeping a dreamless sleep.

Sun was rising when she opened her eyes. It was today. The girl with auburn hair, still in her head, wondered, after all they have been through, how did this still happened ?

She wondered if someone would be here to help with the gown. She wondered if Arya would be here. She wanted her sister to be here. To be by her side. Like always. Like _before._

She washed herself and undid the tight braid the maid had made out of her hair. The curves of the locks reflected the sunlight so brightly it was unsettling. In her sweet nightgown, with her three hours worth of sleep, and her fake smile, she had never been so nervous in years.

Then, Arya entered her room with Milandrei carrying the gown. The tissue was not the snow white she always wished for, but it was white enough. The scars on her arms would be covered by a fine silk, the colour of a pearl. In the same shade, her torso would be tangled up in a corset and a clivage stopping the eyes on the necklace Willas gave her. It was close to her throat, a white rose embedded in a silver chain. How poetic. Her skirts were heavy, the weather not quite giving up on the summer they all wished for.

She bore the cape her mother received all those years ago.

The wolf sigil seemed a little rusted, and if it was for her, those little wholes in the tissue were only here to remember her of the blood shed she had to suffer.

* * *

As she was almost ready, her heart was beating stronger, almost suppressing air from entering her lungs at all.

" _I...Milandrei, could you leave us alone for a minute."_ The girl, as usual, did as she was asked.

Arya, in a grey dress, her hair tied up in a bun, her frowning only slightly hidden by a beautiful chain of small red rubies on her forehead, looked straight at her.

" _Why did you bother ?_

 _\- Family business, sister._

 _\- Stop it. You know it doesn't suit you as well as you wish..."_

Sansa stopped combing her hair and looked at Arya, sited on the bed. The sun, now settling high in the sky, reflected on the rubies and made her sister's eye look like pools of muddied blood. It was as astonishing as it was gruesome.

" _I have a gift for you."_

The elder raised a brow. Arya raised her eyes to the ceiling.

" _Well, Gendry AND Bran suggested it would be a good idea."_

When their eyes met again, a box was on Arya's lap, sorted like a rabbit out of a magician box.

She opened it carefully, took what was inside with the precaution of a mother to her newborn. The box aside, she walked towards Sansa, and that is when she could finally see it: A small craved crown. A mixed colored base, perfectly silver and gold, in the shape of a growing plant with small thorns. In the downsides roses where raised as amber stones, when on the front the biggest of them all, was a snowy white fully blown flower, with in its petals silver lines drawing the shapes of each of them differently.

It was not bigger than her thumb.

" _How...?_

 _\- Gendry is very skilled with metals. And, well, fine jewelry is not the hardest to find with a name like ours."_ They both smiled. _"May I_ My Lady ?

\- _Stop making fun of me, would you ?"_ Sansa had a small laugh. Then her sister brought the crown to her auburn hair and so, so pale forehead. Her hair loose, she was stunning. No, more than that, she seemed powerful, beautiful and regardless of her blushed cheeks and watery eyes, she carried their name with pride, through the murmurs when she entered the woods with her sister at her side, so different and yet so much alike, through the speech, and the words they repeated. Through the old rug gently took off of her shoulders, replaced by a brand new golden sigil which would be her name now. Through the small kiss, she and Willas shared. She had felt his hands shaking as they were on her face. She saw his eyes on her when she entered the room.

And she felt that, this time, her husband would care for her as much as she wanted it to be. The reminiscence of her old dreams made her melancholy at the buffet. She was going to wake up. This was not possibly real. Her sister dancing with a small smile on her face, Bran clapping and _laughing._ Her, married, for the oddest reason possible, and still, somewhat, looking with fondness at all those smiles and laughs, she had not heard for so long she could have burst into tears on the spot. Willas' voice interrupted her state.

" _My Lady ? Are you alright ?"_ The corner of her mouth raised a little.

 _" Yes, yes, of course. I... just lost the habit of living among happy people. That is all."_

He frowned, took her hand and brought it to his lips gently. Some locks of his hair tickled her hand, making her shiver. When he released it, she rapidly put it in her lap, rubbing her hands together to erase the burn. He said nothting. After a few moments of silence, her husband declared something she would not forget so soon.

" _I hope this habit will be one of ours from now on."_

"Ours". He had said it so lightly, she thought she had misheard what he said. "Ours". That was one thing Sansa, had not really thought about. A couple. That is what they were now, tied by a name, tied by one breath under one tree. She looked at his profile, turned to the crowd, biting down his too loud smile. He brought a cup of wine to his lips, always smiling. She turned her eyes to the maddening crowd, to the sound and the fury, the life and the livings in front of her. It was so dramatic. When you know traumas like she did, everything else seem like a dull repetition of old memories. Yet, she looked and observed, drinking her beverage slowly like it was made for the Gods and that she would never taste anything like it ever again.

A drunk lord, out of his mind, yelled "THE BEDDING !". All the other drinkers were prompt on there feet to oblige the demand. Sansa did not move. She knew what it was to have sex by now, and she had no will to hide herself from the prying eyes of the highborn ladies, already giggling like mad maids, helping her out of her dress on her way to _their_ chambers. Stinging little words. The torches were blinding her, and she stumbled, having a fake laugh about it. Arya was behind, and stopped the feeding before they got to rip her out of her underdress. She had promise her sister to never let anyone see her scars, but her. And, now, she could not protect her. Failure was never a thing Stark acclimated to very well. Sansa smiled to Arya above her shoulder, the crown almost hurting her clenched hand, and open the door in a frightfully enlightened room, and closed it on the reddening, giggling, nostalgic faces of high bred ladies.

* * *

The small wooden door kept the sounds between its gates. When she walked pass a small corridor with its stoned path, the chimney was full of burning wood. To her left a bed was against the wall, facing a closed window, with its curtains wide open on the clouded sky. A small alcove was filled with cushions and books. A mohagany table was wide between the window, the alcove and the cheminey. Her parents room seemed so small to her now. On her right, were the rest of the furnitures, carved in with delicacy, above the knob, all of them embedded with a Stark sigil.

Next to the window, a mirror was set on a small table, with a brush and something resembling perfume. She put down the crown near it, before settling down near the fire, breathing in the flames. Willas was nowhere to be seen, maybe the drunken arrived to his skin and peeled him off accidentally. The thought merely made her shiver. Her robe was thin and the bear skinned on the floor was not of any help to heat her up. Suddenly, a vest was silently put on her shoulders, and Willas moved a chair to sit beside her, in front of the hypnotizing fire. She dare not make a sound.

Her eyes closed, her head against the chimney, she let out a " _Thank you"_ , she doubted she even said.

After a few moments, a movement was heard. Tissue against skin, someone being changed.

When Sansa heard the door at the opposite side of the room finally closing, she asked ironically

" _How did you manage ?_

 _-Managed what ?_

 _-To escape the drunken vultures ?"_

He laughed a bit, un-at-ease with her eyes on his body. She did not move her look from his eyes though.

" _I did not escape. I ran."_

Surprised was the least Sansa could be right now. He sat on the bed, his right thigh and leg hurting, just a bit.

" _I can see your surprise as an accomplishment itself. You've never showed me that face before, I'm glad to see it._

 _Never thought I would have to run and hide in a closet before returning here, to see it, but that will do."_ Willas smiled frankly at her. She turned her head a little light headed, and before he could speak again, she took her turn.

" _Never thought I would have to see my wedding gown almost torn apart by remarkably strong ladies, to see you smile like that, but that will do."_ They shared a laugh, and then the uneasy atmosphere settled down for good.

The Queen in the North broke it.

" _I'll be honest with you. At this point, I hope you do not expect me to believe you've never slept with anyone. I also hope that you will not react badly when I say that it would be bold to expect you to believe that at my age, I have never be known by a man in my life. Particularly, when you know that I just arrived from Dorne. You know, morals and all that are not the same there. Moreover..._

 _\- I know. And I don't care. For now at least. If it happens that we actually_ share _something in the future then I'll be driven mad if I don't ask about those other men you've...known, but for now, it's alright. It's your past, not mine._

 _-...Good. If we're done talking, I'd like to go to bed. Then maybe I'll talk to you about the time I slept with a women."_

His eyes were as blue as ever in his surprise, but even more when she walked toward him.

He was as scared by her as he was admirative of her. Which was a strange balance.

Sansa took his left hand and placed it carefully on her hip. She placed her right hand on his right cheek, and murmured something he could not really recall afterwards

" _I want to be touched. It does not mean I see you more as a partner than a husband. I am just longing the touch of someone who is not here, and you are the only one allowed to fulfill that need. No matter what, I respect my vows. I'll be loyal to you, but don't ask me to be in love with you. Not now. Not yet. Maybe not ever."_

He felt her skin beneath his fingers, tracing through the layer of clothe the patterns of her scars. So many of them, so many to heal and kiss, and... When he got hold of himself again, Willas had already bare her legs until her hips, the tissue pooling between her thighs. His breath shortened.

" _Good for me."_ The robe vanished, and after a few seconds, both bare in front of another, to the only light of the fire, their lips were colliding, harshly, when their hands traced the older and the younger marks on their bodies. No one heard the beating of their hearts, the thundering of their breaths, neither the wounds being kissed away or the luxury and pleasure leaving their lungs until the night was dark and tired.

Hello there ! Not really satisfied with this chapter. I'll try to do better next time. Less talking more action.

By the way, there is no romance at all in here, when you want to have sex because you want to have sex, it is only a natural need, no romance necessary.

Nothing is settled _yet_ ;). The story (and me) are at a point were it is more baby steps than a marathon. Thanks for the patience.

'Hiraeth' (Name of this Chapter) means the longing of a place, a home to wich you cannot return, a yearning of a place which no longer exists.

See ya !


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